Whispers In The Wind Series
by Kjminame
Summary: Every night, Hermione writes poetry on the shore of the Black Lake. Poetry of love, hate, and longing. Who is she writing about? And who is watching over her? Series.
1. Series 1 The Spirit And The Gryffindor

**Series 1) The Spirit And The Gryffindor**

Darkness and dankness bellowed in the breadth. The bright day had once again taken it's disguise as night, and the sun had faded gracefully into the pale moon. The clouds had moved on, but as they did, left little traces behind of their past. The stars. The sky was fortunate. It had the fine pleasure of gazing down upon the luminous lake below itself, and seeing in it's reflection it's untouchable beauty. Is the sky self-loving? This might be, but it matters not. For there are many who love the sky, it's not an unique admiration. One such being sits below the sky, as these words spill out above her. Her name, Hermione Granger. Quite an intelligent and gifted woman as you might know. Referred to often as the Gryffindor Princess. Miss Know-It-All. If only you could see Hermione now. She is dressed in a long, crystal white silk dress that drapes onto her bare feet. It flatters her every curve, except her hips. There, the dress bells around her, like a dove's soft wings. Her attire is simple, but most elegant. Her curly, illuminated chestnut hair flows down her back. Loose and wild. She holds close in one hand a small, blue book which seems to be a journal. With the other hand she grips a black-feathered quill, and is writing with it. Hermione is writing about someone. Someone who is very near and dear to her withered heart. Who is in fact her undying love, but only in secret to herself. For he does not know how she paints his picture. How do I know this? Well, she writes of him often. All in her little blue book. As I look upon it now, I think this is her best work yet. Let me read it to you:

_The horizon's glow hasn't touched the morning trees_

_Knowing this puts my mind at ease_

_The light has kept itself at bay_

_To keep me from the hours of day_

_I want to stay under the hunter's moon_

_Continue to think in my warm cocoon_

_Because when I'm wrapped up inside my bend_

_I can dream without an end_

_When the sun comes up you see_

_I might have to tell you what you mean to me_

_I'd rather lay beneath the bark_

_Then bare the pain of a rejection's mark_

_I'll stay where I'm free, to reap what I sow_

_But I wish I could tell you I love you, Draco_

Indeed, it is quite amazing. Hermione's thoughts of him enclosed in a single poem. Draco Malfoy. Quite unexpected of a woman of her stature to fall from grace for a man of his attitude. Draco is rude, crude, arrogant, and piecing it all together, a Slytherin. With the coldest gray eyes that anyone could ever see. You probably knew all this about him too. Love is an amazing thing isn't it? You never know who will sweep you off your feet. Even if they are the most greedy and malicious person alive, and they constantly call you a mudblood. To you, they are all you need. Are Hermione and Draco ever going to be together? I cannot say. I am unable to predict the future ahead. That is the curse that life grants us all. Uncertainty. To some, it is just the opposite. To some, it is the high that keeps them going. Who am I? How do I know so much about so many things? I am an observant spirit you might say. Someone you cannot see, but you know is there. You can feel me graze your skin every once in awhile. I can send shivers down your spine, and fly in between your strands of hair. I make the trees sway, and the lake's water ripple. I have been everywhere, and always will be. I am the wind. Forever moving throughout the world, and learning more and more things about it. I must admit, in all the years I have wandered, all that I have discovered, love is the greatest lesson I have ever learned. The power of it is incredible, and unlike anything I have ever felt. I will return here again, to read more of Hermione Granger's poetry. But now I must leave you, for the sun is rising. And it is a part of me to greet the dawn's light.

_**Parting Words:**_

This is the beginning of a new series of one-shots that I will be writing. There will be seven of them all together. I wanted to do something different, unlike anything I have ever written before. I hope all of you like this one and will like the rest! And yes, I did write this poem. I will write every single poem I use. Read and review!


	2. Series 2 Woes Of A Dragon

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Series 2) Woes Of A Dragon

Sleep. To rest in an unconscious state. We all sleep at one point or another, and we all awaken again. Not entirely true I suppose, some find their swift death while inside the core of their many dreams. Am I morbid? Perhaps, but I know one thing is for certain. Most of us want to sleep forevermore. Escape the grueling ties of this reality and be eternally in peace with ourselves and with our minds. Unfortunately, the lines that make our lives are not drawn that way. They are harshly delicate, and much more unpredictable. Did I forget to give my hello? How improper of me. I imagine you remember who I am from the last and first time we met. I need not say my name. I can tell your memory has not faltered, for we have both been lured here for the same enchanting reason as last. Hermione Granger's poetry. Alluring and whimsical her words are. But, as I enter the shore of this lake, I see not Hermione's face. I see Draco Malfoy's. Do I know why I see him? I do not, but I have an inkling. The Slytherin Prince has his own little secret. He writes poems as well, and not just any poems about anyone. About our Hermione Granger. Ah, the twists of fate life brings us. They do not occur very often, but when they do, they are extraordinary. If Hermione was here, there would be no doubt in my mind that Draco would reflect her. For their attires, are exact opposites. Draco is wearing dark blue jeans, with a long-sleeved, black, silk shirt wrapped around his upper half. He appears to be deep in thought. Which is definitely so, because the first page of the medium-sized, forest green book in his hand is full of expressions. Allow me to show you:

__

The lake's spray lifts my broken soul

Almost to fill this lasting hole

Inside my heart it carves it's nest

Leaving me in this agonizing unrest

Deep inside my frivolous mind

There's one who is an innocent kind

She grips my spirit in her fragile hand

To her, I don't know, where I stand

This mean, crud person others claim me to be

Is not who I am at all you see

I'm afraid to break down my stone-edged walls

Afraid to ignore my Lord Voldermort's calls

But I am woven entirely, into her charms

And I would die to fall asleep inside her arms

My inkling was correct. Draco is in love with our Hermione. He is drawn to her. Like flocks of birds are drawn to the sea. I love the sea. I rest upon the majestic, crystal blue waves that crash onto the beach sand. And I watch the humans pass by without even a backwards glance towards the vast ocean. This amazes me. How much humans take for granted. How much they can see but still not truly see it for all it is, all it can be. I suppose it makes sense within the walls of their minds. "It's just another ocean, just like all the others" they think, "it's just water". For this, I think they are mentally incompetent. Am I rambling on to much? I apologize. As I pause to look around myself, I notice that young Draco has risen to his feet. I see that he has carefully concealed away his medium-sized, forest green book from all wandering eyes. I am also detecting a strong, growing sense of sorrow and weakness, strewn across his essence. Draco's silver-glazed eyes are inert, and without large traces of life. Much unlike when he was writing. Do I know why he is melancholy? Isn't it obvious? Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are two worlds apart. Draco is a Death Eater, as is his revered father, Lucius. Both are a pride to Lord Voldermort's rise. Hermione is a bookworm, a full-fledged soldier for the army of the Light side. They are taught to be enemies, and to hate one another. Draco knows this, which is why his expressions are so dismal and dispiriting. He knows the two of them could never be together, and this makes his heart sullen. On that note, I have just discovered that the newly born sun is rising upon the horizon. And like Draco Malfoy, I must perform my duty and welcome it with open arms. I will return here again soon, to read more poetry from our two hidden admirers. Who will be present when I return? Will they ever reveal their true feelings for each other? The answers are a mystery to me.


End file.
